She has made her soul to be
as smooth as possible,
laid down before the feet
of passers-by as a road for travel.
She has attempted the intricate
architecture of bridging across landmass
She has contemplated the doormats
that ordain front shops and village homes -
some welcome all guests,
others used for wiping off the dirt alone.
As long as she is beneath and
not above, all eyes greet her
with warmth and happiness.
As long as she is quiet
when quiet is expected.
As long as she is vocal
only by definition, all is well.
But to become aware,
to wave her soul as a banner,
to extricate from the web
of articulate conversation,
to express deeper thoughts
that arise from within like prisms,
to attempt to walk
on top of the water when others
prefer taking the ferry,
to shake off the doormat dust
and walk through the threshold of the door
into what may come -
This is met with a variety of
possible reactions, not all welcome.
And yet to feel her soul
become a skin of tattooed brilliance,
to feel her soul a jewel refracting light,
to feel her soul becoming;
is worth sacrificing people's opinions
over the cliff of intention,
is worth shedding old ways
that no longer service,
is worth the pain
She has become for herself
a flying carpet.
She may pour out abundance
upon the faces of all people.
She may touch the temple
of every human being with full grace
and travel every road with her soul a flag flying
from her hand stretched out of the window,